


Moonlight

by Halrloprillalar (prillalar)



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: M/M, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-26
Updated: 2016-12-26
Packaged: 2018-09-12 11:12:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9069097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prillalar/pseuds/Halrloprillalar
Summary: Pre-canon. "Every year Georgi's birthday the same: too much food and too many shots and too much smoke in the air." But this year is different.





	

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. Story takes place two years before canon.
> 
> 2\. Victor's birthday is December 25, Georgi's December 26.
> 
> 3\. For the purposes of the story, I'm shifting Russian Nationals about a week later, otherwise it overlaps both their birthdays.
> 
> 4\. Georgi, you are a star. Happy Birthday.

"Your sister told me you were up here."

Georgi turns and there's Victor Nikiforov, the door closing behind him.

Every year Georgi's birthday the same: too much food and too many shots and too much smoke in the air. So Georgi says he's going out for another bottle and escapes his own apartment. Up the stairs instead of down, onto the roof, leaning on the railing, looking out at the city lights and the moon moving through the clouds.

He likes the company and the noise. But Nationals are next week and the only way to stay this side of blackout drunk is to slip away for awhile, at least until his red-faced uncle starts snoring.

"I like to spend some time in contemplation," Georgi says. He puts his hands in his coat pockets. There's a smell of snow or maybe rain in the air, but it's not falling yet. "Did you get a drink?"

Victor has never come to Georgi's birthday before. Georgi can't imagine him in the crowd downstairs, sitting at Georgi's table, like the moon inside a fire-lit room, washing all the yellow light to silver.

Georgi has never been to Victor's birthday either. He doesn't know if Victor has people in or if he books a room in an exclusive restaurant. Who those people might be. No one at the rink has ever mentioned it.

Victor comes over to stand beside Georgi and they both look out into the night sky. "She made me drink a shot in the hallway." He rests his arms on the railing. "I brought some flowers."

"Thank you." _No room left in your apartment for all your bouquets?_ Georgi wants to ask Victor why he's here but it seems churlish. They're friendly and they've known each other for a long time, but Georgi wouldn't call them friends. If he were in trouble, Victor is not who he would call.

"What do you contemplate up here?" Victor speaks without turning his head, sending his words out over the edge to fly or fall.

"The past," Georgi says. "Love. Nina." They dated all summer and broke up in the fall. In his mind, she's his summer rose, faded now, petals scattered by the wind. In his heart, he knows they never meant that much to each other. But right now he wants to sigh in the dark, to let a single tear run down his face. And he's had a lot of vodka.

"Speaking of love," Victor says. "Your sister said to come back down because she has a women for you to meet."

"It's too soon." Georgi sighs, a little, pictures Nina, her long dark hair, tries to bring that tear into his eye.

"You like it," Victor says, his voice low. "You like the heartbreak."

Georgi can't tell if Victor is making fun of him. "It's important to take the time to feel it." He grips the railing, too cold on his bare hands, and feels the shots catch up with him, warming his heart, his throat, his belly, wrapping him around with softness. "To fill your heart with joy and pain."

Victor doesn't speak but he blows a plume of frosty breath into the air. He clasps and unclasps his hands.

"What do you think about?" Georgi asks. "When you stand on your balcony and look out at the city. The medals you'll win?"

"I don't remember," Victor says. He puts his hand on Georgi's back, so lightly that Georgi almost can't feel it through his coat. "Isn't it best to live day to day?"

"Without heartbreak?" Georgi straightens up, turns to face Victor. 

Victor's hand doesn't fall away. He turns as well, steps in, arm circling Georgi.

A shiver runs through Georgi and he stops for a second, doesn't blink, doesn't breathe. He can feel Victor's breath warm against his face. Is this why Victor came here or is it just a sudden whim? Either way, Georgi is usually on the other side of this dance, the one who reaches out his hand. It's nice to be sought after, especially by his rival. His unrequited rival.

_Never turn down a kiss in the moonlight,_ Georgi thinks and so he leans in, just a bit, so that it's Victor who has to close the gap.

Victor waits, long enough that Georgi wonders if he's mistaken, then his mouth comes down on Georgi's and they're kissing in the cold night air, Victor's arms locked around Georgi's waist and Georgi's hands on Victor's face.

The press of Victor's body makes Georgi remember: this happened once before. Maybe seven years ago. Georgi, standing in a dark corner of the rink, ten minutes after she ended it and he can't even remember her name now. Tears on his face, a bruise on his knuckles from the wall. And Victor's hand on his back, the same move. One slow kiss that flared into more, and ended with Georgi pulling away, because he wasn't finished crying yet.

But Georgi's not crying tonight, even though he's tried, and he opens his mouth to Victor's tongue, moves his hands on Victor's body, lets his blood heat and rise in the icy air.

Victor kisses Georgi's cheek, his throat, cold nose against Georgi's skin, gloved hands on Georgi's neck and face and hair. Georgi catches one of Victor's hands and slides his thumb up Victor's wrist, onto his palm.

There's water on Georgi's face, maybe he is crying after all, but he opens his eyes and it's snowing.

"Is there somewhere?" Victor says. His cheeks are flushed and his eyes are wide.

Georgi's heart flutters in his chest like a bird against a windowpane. "It's cramped," he says and takes Victor back inside the building, to a door at the top of the stairs, a cupboard with tools and brooms, a snow shovel and a bucket of salt.

"There's room," Victor says. He strips off his gloves and opens Georgi's coat and they fall on each other, kiss and touch and thaw from the cold. Georgi warms his hands on Victor's back, up under his shirt. Victor strokes Georgi's face, one thumb along his cheekbone. Georgi sighs into it, presses into it.

Then Victor undoes Georgi's trousers and goes down on him.

It's hard for Georgi to think, to do anything more than feel, but when he looks down at Victor, on his knees in a caretaker's closet, a bare bulb swinging overhead, he still sees a prince in the moonlight and Georgi is just the woodcutter's son.

A pang flashes through Georgi, heartbreak, or close enough. He puts his arm across his eyes, lets Victor work him, his royal favour, as good at this as everything else. It's not long before Georgi clenches — crests — comes, biting his lip and digging his fingers into his palm.

When Georgi opens his eyes, Victor is already pulling on his gloves, coat buttoned to his throat. 

"You're not staying?" It's all Georgi can think to say. He fastens his trousers, smooths his hair. "There's a lot of food."

"No," Victor says and they walk down the stairs together.

They stop at Georgi's floor. Georgi holds out his hand and Victor shakes it. "See you at the rink," Georgi says and Victor nods.

Georgi pauses in front of his door, listening to the hum of talk and clink of tableware. Then he steps into the yellow light of the crowded room and lets his sister introduce him to Anya.


End file.
